She was just a Bartender
by PocketFarryn
Summary: A simple collection of Doyle/Original Character flash-fictions. or drabbles. Five in total.
1. Drabble 1: Invisible

**Summary:**  
[500 word drabble] She knew his name, but he never knew hers.

**Also known as:** Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.  
**Rating**: K+

**Characters**: Doyle & unnamed bartender.

* * *

Night had fallen over LA, covering the bustling city in a blanket of darkness. The lights of the city flickered like a brilliant flock of stars. But that light never did reach where it was needed most. Alleys were cloaked in shadows, the same alleys that silly women would frequent on their way home. By morning, their lifeless bodies would be riddling the alleys like cheap decorations. Everyone seemed to blame the murders on maniacs, but some knew better. Some knew what lurked in the dead of night.

The bartender stood silently in the little store, a carton of milk in one hand, and a magazine in the other. It was only a simple block away from her home, and right across from her work place. She knew the owner well, as he also worked the night-shift. Right now, he was preoccupied with the rerun of yesterday's football game.

The little bell above the door jiggled.

The bartender was the first to look up, hazel eyes rigid with suspicion. Her gaze relaxed upon seeing a familiar face. Of course, he never remembered the bartender. He never recalled the person that served him countless drinks. Doyle was oblivious to her existence, even though he frequented her bar almost every night. The bartender turned her eyes back to her magazine as he passed right by her. He hadn't come in tonight, not into the bar at least.

Doyle didn't smell of the Scotch she knew so well. She watched curiously, out of the corner of her eye, as he slaughtered over to the back. He yanked open the glass door, of one of the refrigerators, and chose his poison.

Bud Light, she scoffed.

The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. He muttered to himself as he made his way over to the magazine rack. The bartender knew her client well, she had noticed his trait of having conversations with himself. She found it amusing. He rummaged through the magazines, his hand reaching out towards the Playboy addition. Doyle glanced around, spotting her only a few feet away, and casually grabbed a magazine about horses located beside the lewder one.

She wanted to burst out into a fit of laughter.

**"You're cheating on me,"** she commented.

Doyle seemed startled. The bewildered man looked around the area, searching for who she might be talking to. She laughed softly, snapping her magazine shut. "I work at the bar across the street," those hazel eyes glanced towards the case of beer tucked under his arm.

**"Really now? I don't remember seein' ya',"** a boyish grin spread across his face.

**"I blend in really well,"** she informed him.

The bartender brushed passed him, heading towards the register. She should of called him on always being drunk, but he had his reasons. Everyone did.

**"See you later, Doyle,"** she mused.

She knew his name, but he never knew hers.

No one cared enough to learn the name of the friendly 'tender.


	2. Drabble 2: Brawl

**Summary:**  
[500 word drabble] A brawl in the back alley gets the attention of the friendly bartender.

**Also known as:** Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.  
**Rating:** K+

**Characters:** Doyle & unnamed bartender.

* * *

The screaming of drunkards echoed throughout the bustling tavern, they were ordering more drinks just to drown themselves in alcohol. Drown away their fading dreams. The kitchen staff were swamped with orders as well, calling on the head bartender for a little help. The bartender, with a sigh of exhaustion, agreed to take out the two trash bags. She kicked open the backdoor, a trash bag in each hand, and slaughtered out into the back alley. The dumpster was only a few feet away, that she was thankful for, as she crossed the alley towards it.

A yelp from her left startled the bartender. She cast her hazel gaze towards the opening of the alley, watching as two men stumbled after a fallen one. It was another brawl, they happened all too often. The bouncer was busy with another one inside the bar, which left it up to the friendly 'tender whether or not to break up this one. It was a toss up, really. She wanted to get back inside quickly, in order to gather more tips.

And, perhaps, the man deserved what he was getting. Either that, or the two bigger men were just bullies.

The bartender hoped that the littler man deserved it. **"I really don't want to deal with this,"** she growled.

She groaned when the man spoke, his accent ringing familiar to her ears.

**"Listen, lads."** He put up his hands. **"I don't want any trouble. I think I told ya' that already."**

One of them hissed, **"You owe us money still, Doyle."**

**"And you're gonna pay up,"** the other finished.

Oh god, they're loan sharks. Some people really need to learn not to mess with them, she thought.

The trash bags dropped to the dirty pavement, clanking loud enough to gather everyone attention. The bartender ventured a guess that there happened to be beer bottles inside the bags as well as trash. She groaned mentally to herself.

**"Take your brawls somewhere else."** She steeled her gaze on the three men.

One of the bullies frowned upon realizing it was just one of the bartenders. **"Stick to your own business, lady."**

She raised a brow. **"Lady?"** she echoed. **"This _lady is_ gonna kick your ass if you don't get a move on it."**

Doyle raised his hand to the bartender. **"Now, now. Let me handle this."**

The bartender didn't bother to hide the scoff of skepticism. **"You've been handling it quite well, haven't you?"** Her gaze flickered to him.** "I guess your strategy is to handle it from the pavement, right?"**

She had no problem squashing his manhood beneath the heel of her boot. Way to make him feel weak.

The bartender shuffled her way closer to the three, placing a defiant hand on her left hip. "So which one wants to go first?" She frowned with a quirk of her brow.

Friendly bartenders hated playing nasty, but sometimes situations called for it.


	3. Drabble 3: Favors

**Summary:**  
[500 word drabble] Because when you're a bartender, everyone owes you a favor. -Sequel to Brawl-

**Also known as:** Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.  
**Rating:** Teen.

**Characters:** Doyle & unnamed bartender.

**Author Note:** Check out my homepage for a neat list of links to the other works in the **Friendly 'Tender Collection**. They're in order of how you should read 'em, and it just makes everything easier so you don't need to run back to my profile an' find each story. The homepage link is to a LiveJournal account.

* * *

The size eleven black boot came hammering down into the groin of the man. He let out a yelp of pain, tears brimming in his dark eyes. The biker removed his foot, and snarled.** "Your just goods for bothering _our_ bartender,"** he hissed. **"Now get out of here before I bust your balls."**

Bully number two helped his friend up to his feet as the two idiots stumbled out of the dark alley.

Pete, the said biker, turned his attention back to the friendly 'tender. His bald head was reflective under the light that was emitted from the exit sign. A husky man with a beard that touched the center of his chest, and piercing gray eyes that held a soft hand of kindness behind them. **"If they bother you again, let me know,"** his voice was gruff. **"I'll have my boys hack their pathetic heads off."** Pete always enjoyed helping out the bartenders, when he could. You'd never expect the leader of a biker gang to be such a compassionate person.

She smiled.** "Go back inside. Tell the other 'tenders that drinks are free of the Angels."** It was the least she could do.

The gruff biker gave a wolfish grin. **"You always do know how to please a man."** Pete sauntered passed the bartender, and disappeared back inside the bar.

With a confident stride, the bartender made her way over to where Doyle was seated. She stuck out her hand, offering it with a grin. **"Did you honestly think I could pick off those two blokes?"**

**"We're all full of surprises."** He gave a boyish grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took her hand, and she yanked him to his feet.

**"Not me,"** she countered.** "I'm just your average neighborhood bartender. I make the drinks, and listen to the babble."**

Doyle brushed himself off, giving her a skeptical look. **"So how did ya' convince a violent leader of a biker gang to beat some punks up for ya'?"**

Her grinned widened. **"When you're a bartender, everyone owes you a favor."** She crossed her arms over her chest, and cocked her head to the side. There was a certain sparkle in her hazel hues.

Her grin was contagious.** "I guess I'm one of those people that owe ya',"** he laughed. Doyle dug around in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He held the pack up to her.** "Want one?"**

The bartender shook her head, pushing her dark bangs out of her eyes afterward.** "I quit a long time ago. Those things will kill you, ya' know."**

Doyle chuckled, **"There's a lot of things that can kill me. I think this is the least of my problems."**

"**It'll catch up to you,"** she warned. **"Everything catches up to you in the end."**

**"Well, let's hope this isn't the end."** He gave a half-smile as the lighter flickered to life.


	4. Drabble 4: Conversation

**Summary:**  
[500 word drabble] He had been coming there almost every night. A simple conversation, but something was different this time. It felt like the last time he would share a drink with the friendly 'tender. Doyle had a feeling.

**Also known as:** Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.  
**Rating:** K+

**Characters:** Doyle & unnamed bartender.

* * *

He'd been coming there almost every night. Ever since the night that he had gotten into a brawl with a certain hot-tempered schmuck, and ended up clumsily knocking a tray out of one of the bartenders' hands. In his drunken fit, he hadn't bothered to apologize to the exhausted looking 'tender. The only thing he cared about, if it mattered at all, was beating the arrogance out of that young punk that had started everything. The twit ruined his perfect evening of drinking alone.

Doyle was surprised when the bouncer didn't toss him out by his head. The large man, that honestly resembled a giant, ended up turning all his aggravation onto the cocky college student, and practically tossed the punk through the door. The bouncer than ordered another round for Doyle, and left the half-demon to drink away his sorrows in solitude.

It hadn't occurred to him until the morning after, that he had neglected to apologize to the bartender. Showing up later that night, Doyle pleaded for the young woman to forgive him. She had. Yet, Doyle still felt horrible for his brash behavior, and that's what led him to spend nearly every free evening, or night, in this quaint place.

It started out as drinking, then as repentance for his actions, but by the second week at the little bar, Doyle's motives morphed into that of companionship. Between the head-splitting visions, the demon fighting, Angel Investigations, and pining after the superficial woman that he had developed a lusting crush for, all Doyle really needed at the end of the night was a round of Scotch, and a friendly conversation with the young bartender.

**"Ever get that feelin',"** he said,** "a feelin' somethin's gonna happen?"**

The bartender glanced over the rim of her mug. Her hazel eyes flashed with curiosity, and slight bewilderment.

**"Something good, or something bad?"** she asked.

**"Bad, real bad,"** he muttered. Doyle downed another glass of Scotch, and gently nudged the empty glass towards her.

She put her own down, and gave the fretting man a refill. **"Bad things happen all the time. Ya' get over it,"** she said.

His fingers danced around the rim of his glass. **"What if ya' can't? What if it's somethin' you're not comin' back from?"**

Dark brows furrowed in confusion, and her lips tugged into a frown. **"You're being awfully cryptic about this feeling thing."**

Doyle stared into the glass of copper liquid. **"Just a feelin', that's all it ever is."**

The bartender didn't say anything else, she just allowed him to sit in his brooding silence.

His hand pushed the full glass away before he dug around in his pocket for the right amount. Doyle dropped the crumbled bills, and coins, on the counter. Dejectedly, he slid off the leather stool, and headed for the door. He stopped briefly, turning just enough to gather a look at the bartender through the crowded room.

**"Thanks for the conversations, princess."**


	5. Drabble 5: Absence

**Summary:**  
[500 word drabble] Doyle never came around anymore. [Slight-Sequel to Conversation]

**Also known as:** Flash Fiction/Flashfic. 500 words exactly. I used 'drabble' because it's familiar to people.  
**Rating:** K+

**Characters:** Doyle & unnamed bartender.

**AN:** The End. I hope you enjoyed this collection of drabbles.

* * *

He never came back. It had been three weeks, and Doyle's face was never among the crowd that came in during happy hour. People came, and people went. Bar fights still broke out every now and then, and 'tenders still tended to the clients of the bustling bar. The atmosphere was still the same, and no one really noticed a missing face. Doyle had kept to himself, only keeping conversation with a certain bartender. It only made sense that one person noticed his missing presence.

Hazel eyes always looked towards the entrance, even during the busiest hours of the night. When people were ordering drinks left and right, and drunks were always starting fights with their useless babble, the bartender still stole glances towards the entrance. She balanced work with the absence of her favorite customer. A man she considered a friend.

He came to the bar to drink away whatever was causing him such misery. He wasn't unlike anyone else there. Everyone had something they wanted to forget.

Though, his visits soon revolved more around companionship. After awhile, the emotion in his eyes changed. His first visits, where he went close to being unnoticed, were reflected in dull, and rejected blue hues. Near the end though, his eyes were alive again, echoing emotions such as, compassion and, perhaps, a tint of hope. Except for the last night he was sitting alone on the stool, sipping his Scotch. Emptiness resonated in his familiar blue eyes as he conversed with the bartender.

She recalled his tone as bleak and hopeless.

The bartender fixed a glass of Scotch, and shuffled down to the end of the bar. It was near closing time now, and most patrons had stumbled out the doors, and into the dark night. A crowd still lingered within the bar though, and 'tenders hurried to refill their drinks. No one had patience anymore.

An exhausted sigh passed her lips as she sat the glass onto the counter. It was the seat that Doyle always frequented. With slouched shoulders, he'd lean onto the counter with a tired grin of his own. No one sat there tonight.

She turned away from the empty seat, fixing a mug of her own strange concoction. She always drank it when he was there. Something's don't change, something's remain the same. Turning around, she fixed her gaze on the Scotch, and leaned her back against the counter filled with different beverages.

The 'tender recalled the faint conversation she last had with Doyle.

**"I guess it wasn't just a feeling after all,"** she murmured.

Doyle wasn't coming back. He wasn't going to drink that Scotch that waited for him. He wasn't going to walk through the doors at any moment. Her friend wasn't coming back. Hazel eyes stared over the rim of the mug as she took a slow sip.

**"You were a good man,"** she smiled lightly. **"Good men shouldn't disappear."**

The bartender closed her eyes.** "Thanks for those conversations, prince."**


End file.
